It Happened One Night
by vigirl
Summary: Grissom and Sara have a little...heart to heart - G/S


Title: It Happened One Night  
  
Author: Alison Nixon  
  
Rating: PG-13, some profanity  
  
Category: Humor/Parody  
  
Spoilers: So oblique that they don't count.   
  
Summary: Grissom and Sara have a little...heart to heart - G/S  
  
Disclaimers: The usual. None of the characters are mine. They belong to Anthony Zuiker, Alliance-Atlantis, CBS, et al. No infringement intended.  
  
Feedback: Definitely! I'd love to know what you think.  
  
Archival: With permission. Please email me at anixon72@hotmail.com  
  
Notes: Ah, well. I had intended this as my entry in Drakkenfyre's CSI G/S Halloween Fic Contest, but I just couldn't wrap it up by the deadline. You know how wily fics can be ;-) So think of this less as a Halloween fic than as...Halloween-inspired. Hope you like it! Oh, and thanks to Devanie for her encouragement of my whackitude. Heh.  
  
*******  
  
  
Lovely.  
  
  
Gently, Sara eased the object in question out of the evidence bag and held it aloft. Such color, she marveled, even in this unnatural light. The color of honey, tinged with the golden brown of iced tea, butterscotch, and caramel. Geological honey hardened around one of nature's secrets. Her eyes sparkled as she brought the fiery thing still closer--just what might its particular secret be? The possibilities were endless. Nearly anything that had ever crawled, grew or flew upon the earth could find its way into a piece like this. Wasps, crickets, beetles, butterflies, and once, to her delight, a tiny speckled egg, orphaned from its prehistoric brood.   
  
  
Each of those pieces had been special, but there was something about this one. Maybe it was the design--a large amber oval, expertly cut and polished, set into a bracelet cuff of thickly ornate silver. As Sara knew, pendants and brooches made of "included" amber were easy enough to find, but jewelers usually preferred clear samples for rings and bracelets. It was a distinction had always mystified her, though. Was it somehow more acceptable to float something dead from your neck, rather than on your arm or finger? Too ghoulish to look down and see a perfectly preserved creature staring back at you each time you signed your name, tapped at a keyboard, or lifted your dinner to your lips? Or was it the sort of conversation piece that made its only appearance of the year on this, the last day of October?   
  
  
She didn't think so. Why shy away from wearing something so lovely? Especially if the creature in question just might be to be the sweetest-looking spider she had ever seen. It was a tiny thing, no more than inch across, with long, strangely curved legs that were almost out of proportion with its body. Each of those legs was splayed outward, as if the animal was still scrambling to escape. The resin that it had struggled against so valiantly could have flowed from any tree, or several, but in any event, its stickiness had made escape impossible. The battle between the two would have been an ancient one, given that even the youngest amber fossils are several million years old. Given that timeline, this spider's subspecies had probably been Darwinized out of existence long ago. A pity. But then again, she mused, maybe not. It was the way of the world, after all, and at least this little thing's honey-colored tomb ensured that one of his kind would indeed live forever.   
  
  
Viewed from that cosmic perspective, it truly was jewelry fit for a witch. Not that the victim was truly a witch, or some mistress of dark powers, of course-Sara did not believe in such things. But still, she had to give the woman credit for realizing what ornament was best suited to her delusions. Just then, as Sara watched, the amber caught the light again and seemed to glow. It really was remarkable. Irresistible. Inexplicable. But...did it feel as good as it looked? Before she could lose her nerve, she ran the gloved tip of her finger across its surface. Its warmth was improbable, but wonderful at the same time. Fiery, golden warmth that felt even more pronounced once the bracelet found its way to her wrist. Assuming that it did lie there, even for a brief moment, given that the impulse to slip it on had flared and died so rapidly that she could not be sure anything had happened at all. Odd, though...her skin was tingling, despite the layer of latex that would have kept the thing from touching her directly. She massaged the area distractedly. Haven't really eaten all day...probably lightheaded, imagining things. She sighed softly, knowing whose voice would dispel the confusion.  
  
  
"Grissom, you've seen the amber in this bracelet, haven't you? What kind of spider do you think it is?"  
  
  
"Given that it's extinct, one of a kind."   
  
  
A laugh bubbled to her lips as she turned to face him with a broad smile. He did look at her, meeting her eyes over the tops of his wire-rims. But before she could speak, he had lowered his gaze back down to the body in front of him without so much as an upward quirk of his lips. The mirth died in her throat.   
  
  
"So do you think she was holding it when she fell?" Cool, barely interested in her reply.   
  
  
Sara stared first at him, and then at the corpse. The irony was not lost on her: the vic was stone cold dead but she still had better luck with the man than Sara did. As a corpse, she at least commanded his full attention. As Sara, the non-corpse, she thought bitterly, I command nothing. It was getting harder and harder to know what to expect from Grissom anymore, what reaction she might receive at any given moment. She would have said he ran hot and cold, but sadly, there had been too little heat to qualify. They still worked together, of course, but this was actually the first case they had worked alone, without one of the others as a buffer, in a long time. Thank you again, Movie Boy. Jail still awaits your sorry ass, but I'm already there.   
  
  
"Yeah," she answered finally, her voice smaller now, and quiet. "There's a little smudging on it, but it looks more like a partial palm print than a finger print. My guess is that she wrapped her hand around it. Don't know why, though," she added, thoughtful. "To protect it? To keep it from being taken?"  
  
  
"To keep it from leaving."  
  
  
Sara blinked her incomprehension.   
  
  
Grissom shrugged. "We know that our victim, Veronica Wells, practiced black magic and professed to be a witch. Well, every witch has a familiar, an animal alter ego, usually a black cat or a bird. But, according to witches' lore, dead animals can play that role just as easily. And although each familiar is psychically bound to its mistress in life, it can regain its freedom after her demise." He cocked his head slightly. "It's possible that the spider in that piece of amber may have 'belonged' to Ms. Wells in that way, and that when she felt her life slipping away she tried, unfairly, to keep it from fleeing by covering the bracelet with her hand."  
  
  
Sara frowned, sending the fine skin between her brows into tight furrows. It was hard to tell if he was taking his own words seriously, or not. Maybe this was his strange way of lightening the tension between them. She spoke, cautiously, after deciding to meet him halfway.  
  
  
"But...even if we go with that theory, what good would a spider be as a familiar?"  
  
  
"Well, that particular spider is quite small. He could probably get into all sorts of unexpected places to do her bidding," Grissom explained. "Think about it. You'd notice if a cat were following you around. Same with a raven, or a blackbird. But an itsby bitsy spider?" He gestured with his hands and offered the barest of smiles, his first of the evening. "It could hide anywhere, in a pocket, in a bag...in someone's hair. Even a witch can't be in all places at once, and so a familiar's job is to assume some of the witch's powers and basically spy for her, to get in people's heads and listen in on their thoughts and vulnerabilities. Seems logical that you'd want a small creature to do the job, don't you think?"  
  
  
"I...wouldn't know," Sara said slowly, wrinkling her nose at the thought of her prehistoric little friend crawling around in anyone's head. She turned back to the counter where the rest of the victim's personal effects were laid and picked up the bracelet with a shrug. "I'm hardly an expert in witchery."  
  
  
"Aren't you?"  
  
  
She stood completely still, bracelet in hand, too amazed to speak. She could feel him watching her. After a few seconds, she forced herself to turn once again. His eyes were a study in blue inscrutability.   
  
  
"What...what's that supposed to mean?"  
  
  
He held the stare for a few moments longer, saying nothing. Finally, he pointed to the body lying between them. "What do you make of this bruising?"   
  
  
What do I make of this...for crying out loud.   
  
  
Sara stalked back towards the autopsy table and glared down at Ms. Wells.   
  
  
"She's got some bruising at the top of her right shoulder. Could be evidence she had a little help falling down those basement stairs. But the marks could also be caused by something else entirely." She twirled her hand sarcastically. "Maybe her broom's so heavy that she has to balance it on her shoulder. When she's not flying it around town, of course."  
  
  
Grissom merely nodded in the vague manner of a man who has already moved on to more pressing concerns. "The pattern of broken bones appears to match what you would expect from an accidental fall, so if we want to rule out murder, we're going to have to look beyond the obvious."  
  
  
What are you blathering on about? Sara wanted to scream. You just called me a witch! And witch is just one letter away from bitch, as if you didn't know. What the hell goes through your mind-do you even know?   
  
  
Wooo hooo... witchy woman, see how high she flies. Woo hoo... witchy woman, she got the moon in her eye...  
  
  
Her mouth fell open.   
  
  
She had heard it. But his lips never moved.   
  
  
She recovered enough to close her mouth and proceeded to eye him narrowly. Grissom stared back, returning her odd look with one of his own. Eventually he took the victim's left hand, the one closest to him, and raised it up for Sara to see.  
  
  
"Black fingernail polish. Chipped and flaking. We weren't lucky enough to find skin under her nails, but maybe some of the polish ended up on the attacker's clothing or skin."  
  
  
Despite the obscure fear that had begun to nag at her, Sara hesitated to ask the obvious question. Surely she must have imagined it. She was probably a little hypersensitive given his odd remark. Plus, hadn't she heard "Witchy Woman" on the radio tonight on her way in to work? Damn lite FM. Why do I even listen to that crap? All it does is make me cry.   
  
  
Somewhat reassured by remembering her unfortunate audio choice before shift and determined to regain her composure, she lifted the victim's right hand. "Yeah, I see the same flaking here. Maybe we will get lucky."  
  
  
Or maybe you will, with that moron of yours. And he is a moron, you know. Only people too thick to get into med school become EMTs.  
  
  
Veronica Wells' hand came crashing down onto the table so hard it actually bounced before it rolled off the edge. Sara could taste blood where her teeth had sliced into her tongue.   
  
  
"What did you say?" It was less of a question than a growl.  
  
  
"Excuse me? I didn't say anything. I believe you were the last person to speak before you let that piece of evidence hit the table like a side of beef." Grissom was frowning now, his eyes sharp with annoyance. "What's the matter with you?"  
  
  
"What's the matter with me? What's the matter with you?"  
  
  
His eyes bored into hers. "Nothing's the matter with me. You, however, are another story."  
  
  
"Look, Grissom--"  
  
  
All that bad sex you're having must be rotting your brain. You're so messed up by that clown that you probably couldn't even appreciate what you'd get from a real man like me   
  
  
Her hand had already made it to the mid-point of a trajectory precisely calculated to collide with his face when she saw it.   
  
  
Tiny. Long legs. And doing a very poor job of hiding behind Grissom's right earlobe. Sara's wrist felt like it was on fire.   
  
  
No...it can't be...can it?   
  
  
"Grissom, don't move." Her voice was surprisingly steady. No need to alarm him.  
  
  
"What now?" By now, his tone was openly hostile.   
  
  
Warning him with her eyes not to be difficult, she continued to extend her hand forward over the table towards his face.  
  
  
"Grissom, you have something on your face, behind your ear. Let me just...brush it away."  
  
  
Don't touch me! Who knows where those hands have been? Did you even make sure he had all of his shots?  
  
  
"Hey! Watch it!" She hissed. "I never touched the guy, and he never touched me, so stop talking about me like I'm some tramp!"   
  
  
She noticed how well he feigned ignorance, even at a time like this. "Who...what? Are you insane? I didn't say anything!"  
  
  
"You didn't say it, you..." Gritting her teeth, and re-injuring her tongue in the process, Sara snapped her lips shut. She knew better than most that there was nothing to be gained by making things more complicated than they needed to be. Just get the spider off him. That's all.   
  
  
"Of course you're not talking about me." She moved her mouth into a caricature of her usual grin, hoping to disarm him long enough to get the job done. "I'm just teasing you. You know, pretending to read your mind, showing off my witch knowledge."  
  
  
Don't you mean your bitch knowledge?  
  
  
Before the primal scream had even left her lungs, a single, slightly furry leg emerged from behind Grissom's ear and offered a cheeky salute. Her long legs vaulted her over the table and the hapless body on top of it in an instant.  
  
  
"Where is it? Where is it?" Her hands were all over his face, her fingertips scrabbling behind his ears, in his ears, in his nose. They quickly moved to colonize his head, digging frantically through his hair which, unfortunately for Grissom, was rather longer than it should have been, giving her plenty to work with. He knew he shouldn't have missed that last appointment with his barber.   
  
  
"What is wrong with you, Sara? Get off me!"   
  
  
"Hold still! I know it's here, Grissom. It's just like you said, it's trying to get in your head."  
  
  
Maybe the girl had finally cracked entirely. He always knew it was a possibility. So high-strung. So emotional. Maybe Hank did me a favor.  
  
  
The next thing he knew, he had hit the deck, hard.   
  
  
"Did you a favor? A favor?" She yelled. "Now you listen to me, you asshole. When I want something, I get it. Do you understand me? And I want that spider!" The last sentence was punctuated by the sound of her fist slamming against the floor perilously near his head.   
  
  
"Sara, you need help. Please, I promise I'll help you if you just--"  
  
  
His only reply was a triumphant shriek. Sara had finally caught sight of her nemesis scurrying evilly from behind Grissom's neck and underneath the collar of his shirt, and she now pounced on his broad chest with relish. His shirt was yanked out of his pants with little ceremony, and her hands began scrambling up and down his chest and under his back. Despite the provocation, he did manage to not give in to the delicious sensation of being tickled to within an inch of his life...right up until her slim fingers invaded his armpits. Then he simply giggled like a child.  
  
  
He tried desperately to catch his breath between gasps of laughter so that he could talk some sense into her, but it was hard work. The woman was relentless, rooting around his body like an aardvark snuffling for ants underground, probing, poking, pulling...  
  
  
Every little thing she does is magic.   
  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
  
Everything she do just turns me on.  
  
  
"Can you just stop thinking, or singing, or...anything at all, for one nano-second? Turn yourself on. I don't have the freakin' time!"  
  
  
As bad as his hearing had gotten, he could never have missed her point, given that it was delivered with projectile spittle and the vicious yanking of the soft tangle of hair under his armpits. Here was a woman who had been pushed to very limits of her sanity. Perhaps it was time to be afraid.   
  
  
But...she's so beautiful when she's crazy.  
  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him like a vicious animal, but since the spider chose this moment to scoot down his chest and into his trousers, she quickly changed course to aim her vengeance below the waist.  
  
  
"Ha! Now I've got you, you mother***!"  
  
  
His belt was yanked by its buckle and unhooked before he could say a word. A woman of action, as always, she didn't even pretend to bother with the button on his pants. As the unmistakable sound of ripped fabric assaulted his senses in the cold, cold air, Grissom cried out at last.  
  
  
"Gil? Sara!"   
  
  
Sara's head flew up. Catherine was gaping at them from the now open door. Her eyes swiveled from Sara to Grissom, and back again. She always knew it would come down to this. She closed the door behind her and shook her head. Warrick was so right. A geek and her freak.  
  
  
"Sara, honey," Catherine said sweetly, deploying her best mommy voice, "I understand that you've had about all you can stand, but this isn't the place,   
okay? Why don't you let Gil up off the floor?"  
  
  
"Catherine, thank God! She's gone beserk, she attacked me--"  
  
  
"Shut up, Gil," she whispered fiercely. Sara was still straddling the man's hips, so it wasn't as if she couldn't hear the whisper. Despite that, Catherine wasn't too worried. She'd realized a long time ago that crazy people rarely heard anything but the voices inside their own heads. Which might explain a few things about him. She considered that for a moment, but quickly let it go. Nooo, way too analytical. He just needs a roll in the hay with his little girl.   
  
  
"Just let me calm her down, okay? Besides, don't I always manage to clean up your messes?"   
  
  
He sent her a nasty look which Catherine returned measure for measure.   
  
  
But while the two old friends might have been prepared to argue the point further, Sara had other plans. Has to be in his boxers. It's a spider-probably loves the pubic region, just like crabs. She was just to plunge into the cavity search when Catherine grabbed her hands firmly.   
  
  
"O-kay, Sara. Time to get up now. Grissom's tired from your play date, okay? He needs to go home and get some rest. He's not as lively as you are, you know. You might hurt him playing like this. And you wouldn't want that, would you?" Lindsey, baby, for every time you wore out some poor little kid in the sandbox, I thank you. You gave me just the words I needed here.  
  
  
Sara stopped struggling against her friend's grip, and finally realized what she had done. The tears began to fall, one after another, although she made no sound. Numb, she looked down at Grissom, who had thrown his arm over his eyes when she made her final lunge.   
  
  
"Grissom?"   
  
  
They had been through a lot of tough moments, but this was as broken down as he had ever heard her. As always, he was jolted by the way her pain made him feel.   
  
  
"Don't cry, Sara. It's okay. I'm okay." He raised his hand and brushed his fingers along one side of her face, stroking her skin as softly as he could.   
  
  
She stared at him fearfully, waiting for the inner dialogue, the thought behind his words, but none came. The only thoughts she could hear now were her own. At any other time, the prospect of losing the ability to get inside his head would have increased her distress, but given the bizarreness of what she had heard thus far tonight, she was prepared to get over the disappointment. Her body sagged with relief, and she let herself lean her cheek into his hand. With a grateful sigh, and closed eyes, she tried to think only of the sensation of his skin against hers.  
  
  
Her eyes flashed open.  
  
  
"You called me a bitch," she said slowly, drawing out each word as the fragment memory floated to the surface of her mind.   
  
  
"You did what?" Catherine spat.  
  
  
"No, no, Sara, remember?" He stumbled over his tongue. "No, I called you a witch, remember? A witch. Not a...not that other word. That was all part of the hallucination. I'd never say that to you." His eyes pleaded with her as he kneaded her small hands together in his own.  
  
  
She regarded him warily, doubtfully. With her hair tangled about her face and her mouth pushed out slightly and drooping at either end, she reminded him of a hurt, skeptical child trying to learn the difference between truth and lies. When her eyes fell away from his, he felt a strange pain in his chest.  
  
  
All he could do was talk to her. "Hey Sara?"   
  
  
She kept her head down.   
  
  
"You know that there's good witches and bad witches, right?"  
  
  
She nodded. He had kept his hold on both of her hands, and now he wrapped them even more securely within his own. They were like two penitents, clasping hands in prayer to a merciful god.   
  
  
"I was just trying to say...you're a good witch, Sara. My good witch."  
  
  
Her eyes lingered in his for a long time as she weighed the words and what she hoped lay behind them. Just when he had begun to fear the worst, she smiled, just a little. He smiled back and sighed slightly. Soon thereafter, she began to lift herself to her feet.   
  
  
"Here, let me help you," Catherine said gently.   
  
  
Sara swayed as she rose, obviously worn to the bone. She leaned on Catherine heavily as they began to shuffle their way to the door. She felt lightheaded, her mind caught up in a swirl of bits and pieces of sounds, words, cries, and images of a tiny leg, saluting her. Where did it run off to anyway, she asked herself hazily. Well, as long as I'm not hearing things anymore. Maybe Gris was right, maybe it was all just a hallucination. She had probably picked up some strange contaminant from that bracelet. Veronica Wells thought she was a witch, so who knew what kind of eyes of newt, frogs' hearts, sheep livers, and other nasty things that she may have used to make her potions and notions and lotions and...Sara's eyes began to close. I can't wait to fall into bed. Bed. Bed. People get lucky in bed. "Maybe you will..."   
  
  
"You said not to touch you because you didn't know where my hands had been."   
  
  
Grissom's eyes darted back and forth. He had been trying to raise himself off the floor as she walked away and now he quickly pulled himself up to a sitting position. He moved to place his back against the autopsy table in case she leapt on him again.   
  
  
"Ah, no, no. That was the spider talking."  
  
  
Her eyes became slits. "I thought you said there was no spider."  
  
  
With a mouth slackened into a shape worthy of a big mouth bass, he sought to clarify things. "There wasn't-there isn't. I was just making a joke. Heh."  
  
  
She wasn't laughing, and neither was Catherine.  
  
  
"Sometimes I refer to myself as 'the spider.' " He smiled winsomely. "You know, it's like a nickname I picked for myself, not too different from the nicknames that people pick for you, like...Buddha, or something." He made sure he showed some tooth in his smile. That always worked like a charm with Sara.  
  
  
Something's not right about this, I just know it, she brooded, noting the toothy grin. I don't know what it is, but I'm going to find out, sooner or later. And no matter what he says, I'll bet that damn spider is at the center of it all. But...he did have an amazing smile, didn't he? And he did look kind of cute, all disheveled like that.   
  
  
Grissom kept on smiling, holding her captive with his steady gaze. He saw her finally relent, and quickly slip back into the hazy shadows of her mind. Her eyes glazed over; he could relax. She would let it go.  
  
  
"You should go home and get some rest." Grissom looked to Catherine. "Can you take her home?"  
  
  
"Hers or yours?"   
  
  
Before he could answer, she held up a hand.  
  
  
"Don't bother. I'm dropping her off at your place. I can use that spare key you keep in your office to let her in. And then," she exhaled, wincing, "you two can get as freaky as you want." Man, I ought to get hazard pay for this crap. Lindsey will be hugging me through my nightmares for the next month just from what I saw in here. I need a drink. Wonder if Nicky would be up for that. Suddenly the blonde's mood improved markedly.   
  
  
"Come on, Sara. We're outta here."  
  
  
Sara turned and allowed Catherine to lead her from the room, lapsing back in mumbling incoherence about amber fire, witchy women and lack of sex rotting her brain. Catherine patted her friend's arm, and tried not to listen too closely. There were some things she really didn't want to know.   
  
  
Grissom, alone at last, gingerly picked himself up off the floor. Every bone in his body seemed to protest; Sara was a lot stronger than she looked. He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it, wiped Sara's fingerprints from his glasses, and tucked his shirt back into his pants. My pants, he sighed. Buttonless. Pinching the edges together as best he could, he secured them with his mangled belt. At least he still had his belt. It wasn't clear that he could say the same for his dignity.   
  
  
He walked slowly over to the countertop where Sara had first noticed the bracelet. It really was beautiful.   
  
  
With or without its captive.   
  
  
Grissom leaned his hip against the steel of the counter and shook his head.   
  
  
"You were magnificent. How can I ever thank you?"  
  
  
His familiar poked out from behind a canister, one leg at a time.  
  
  
"Don't worry, it's all clear. She left a few minutes ago."   
  
  
Grissom chuckled. "My place..."  
  
  
The spider crept out and settled itself directly in front of Grissom's hand, looking up at him expectantly.  
  
  
"Oh yeah, I'll definitely make it up to her. This all got a little...out of hand. But you see, none of it would have been necessary if she wasn't such a hazard. I swear, the woman has stomped, smashed, or sprayed damn near every insect familiar I've assigned to her over the years. How was I supposed to find out the truth about that guy if none of my helpers lived long enough to report back on their surveillance? That's why I was so glad to meet you at Ronnie's house. She'd always raved about you, so I knew you'd be perfect for the job. Like I always say, with great age comes great wisdom, and you, my friend, are aged."  
  
  
This remark was greeted by a bravura four-legged salute, the absurdity of which made warlock and familiar laugh companionably for quite some time.   
  
  
"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm planning to work up a little amnesia potion. You don't think I want her to remember all those weird thoughts I sent her, do you? Besides, I was really hamming it up to get a reaction out of her. It worked, but the sooner she forgets it ever happened, the better."  
  
  
"Yeah, I think I have what I need. The only thing I might be missing is the stinging nettle, but I know where I can find some on the way home. Hopefully, once I whip it up, I can just slip it into some tea, or maybe a stiff drink...somehow I think she'll take whatever I pass off as herbal--she was still mumbling randomly when she left. Yeah, I know, I know." Grissom sighed, his face set in regretful lines. "But a man's got to do what a man's got to do. She's just too lovely to let go."   
  
  
The spider, being male himself, could hardly disagree. He hoped to find his own lovely thing someday, too.  
  
  
"Well, I guess our work here is done. And yes, a promise is a promise. I hereby release you, with thanks. Feel free to hang around the lab if you like it here. If not, there's plenty to places to roam outside, too. Keep in touch, okay?"   
  
  
"Me? Well, there is one thought I sent her that I'd like to...follow up on." He grinned. "You know how it is."  
  
  
And the funny thing was, it did.  
  
  
  
(Fin) 


End file.
